Urban Decay
by Aural Winter
Summary: She thought she'd found all the tools necessary for happiness. But when an old acquaintance returns, she finds herself questioning just how complete her life really is. Shepard/Gianna Parasini. Moderate spoilers for ME1 and ME2.
1. Urban Symphony

**A/N: **I've been replaying ME1 lately, and a few days ago I arrived on Noveria, quickly being reminded of how wildly fond I am for a certain Internal Affairs agent. I was somewhat pleased, yet somewhat dissapointed, with Gianna Parasini's reappearance in ME2. I love that BioWare brought her back, but it left me wanting more. And then… this was spawned. I wrote the first chapter on a whim. As of now, I have no idea where I'm going with this story. Usually that's a recipe for disaster. But I'm going to try and pull it off.

Enjoy, Parasini fans -- I know there are more of us out there!

* * *

**Urban Decay, Part One**

_Ah, yes. Firewalls. Cute, Hermia... very cute. You're learning fast._

Gianna Parasini worked the laptop with nimble fingers, gliding them across the keyboard wordlessly as she typed up the latest segments of code. She was no computer expert, but she knew her way around simple hacking programs well enough, and Hermia's latest firewall would require a completely new brute-force encryption breaker to get through.

_I'm impressed, Hermia. A month ago you didn't know enough to encrypt your flight schedule out of Noveria. That's the only reason I managed to chase you this far._

_Damn asari._

She had to admit, the asari merchant had been a moderately challenging mark thus far. But once Gianna's network security worm caught, she'd have full access to Blue Princess's entire database. Including the schematic Hermia had stolen from Noveria.

From her table on the Illium trade floor, Gianna only had limited connection to Hermia's network… and that damned firewall was keeping her from uploading her worm wirelessly. Not that it mattered. She'd find a way to get the virus into Hermia's system. And then all the princess's firewalls would come crumbling down like soft mortar. The best digital security in the galaxy wasn't enough to protect a system from simple human -- or asari -- stupidity.

She finished programming her worm. Then she opened up her word processor and typed out her own terribly-written take on a message that she'd become so very used to seeing:

_FROM: Viaren Dhalla_

_TO: Hermia Terestis  
_

_Dear Friend,_

_It is with great pleasure that I inform you of a potential for great and endless fortune for the both of us. My name is Viaren Dhalla, a businesswoman from Serrice, in Thessia. The company in which I have worked for fifteen years has recently gone bankrupt, and I find myself in possession of vast amounts of off-the-book corporate funds that were accidentally deposited in the company's digital savings system. Soon, my company's data banks will be purged, and all that money will disappear. _

_I do not want to lose this opportunity. I need to transfer the money out of the system, but I must send it to an Illium-based account in order to avoid investigation, since Illium authorities have no power to investigate financial transfers. I merely need you to provide me with a bank name and account number, and I can send these funds to your account. We will split the profit 50/50. Attached is a document containing all the relevant information for a direct transfer from my company's databank to your account. Thank you for your consideration._

Before sending it off to Hermia, she attached her worm, innocently disguising it as a standard database document.

Gianna sighed. She doubted the asari would be stupid enough to fall for an old Nigerian 419 scam, but there was no reason not to try. At best, it would work. At worst, the asari would shrug it off as another spam message and delete it. Besides, all she needed was for Hermia to open the attachment.

She tried her best to feel hopeful, but deep down, she knew things weren't going as well as expected. Gianna had been on Illium for a few weeks now. Yet there was very little tangible progress. She'd taken down tougher marks before -- hell, Anoleis was as savvy a white collar criminal as they came. But not even Gianna Parasini, Noveria's best Internal Affairs investigator, was immune to strings of bad luck. And she'd hit one with Hermia. The asari just wasn't _doing _anything, illegal or otherwise. She came to her little booth every day, made her sales, went home. Steadfast. Gianna needed the mark to screw up, to at least give her _something _to work with before she could act. Otherwise she was stuck banking on a relatively hopeless 419 scam to catch the mark red-handed.

That was how it always worked -- watch closely, gather evidence, and _let the mark screw up_. The mark always screws up eventually. It was how it had worked with Anoleis. But Hermia was doing everything right, and it was leaving Gianna paralyzed.

Yet as frustrating as the situation was, she felt oddly confident, oddly at peace.

"You'll fall soon, asari," she said aloud to nobody in particular. "It's only a matter of time."

She leaned back and gave her knuckles a satisfying _crack_. Illium buzzed on around her; the sounds of laughter and conversation and speeding cars and mechanical clicks all blending together into a polyphonic urban symphony, a capitalist magnum opus that even Bach or Mozart would have been proud to call their own. She could make out isolated snippets of life within the symphony, like individual instruments in the orchestra -- merchants pitching their products, businessmen finalizing deals that would make them rich, investors deciding the financial futures of corporations halfway across the galaxy with a single order of "buy" or "sell." Lives would be changed with every little decision of the financial gurus of the Illium trade floor.

Gianna was just glad to be a part of it.

People often thought that white collar crime wasn't even worth the effort to stop. It was stories of pain and slavery and murder that played at the heart strings of citizens back on Earth, not art theft or contract fraud or embezzlement. People liked to hear about heroic soldiers capturing batarian pirate bases, killing krogan mercenary lords -- the big-ticket criminals getting taken down. But across the galaxy, there were dozens of places like the Illium trade floor, centers of operation of the galactic economy that every single one of them depended on. And it was up to people like Gianna Parasini to keep these centers running smoothly. Every time a banker skimmed off the top, every time a merchant pawned off crap goods or a corporate spy stole critical information, the galactic economy suffered. The gears of the machine slowed, and everyone, on every world, paid the price. It was why Gianna loved her job so much. Keep the playing field even, and everything else takes care of itself.

The activity around her was intensifying now, Illium's symphony growing to its crescendo. The seconds ticked down to the market's closing bell. The investors scrambled to cut their losses, consolidate their gains, end the day with their piles of money locked in the right places. It was a wild game they played, and she wanted no part in it. No. Gianna had arrived. She'd found everything she needed in this life. A solid income, a job she loved, a place where she fit -- what more does happiness require?

Then her eyes caught a face in the crowd, and Gianna Parasini's jaw dropped. She blinked once to make sure she hadn't imagined it.

Nope, still there.

_What the…_

"Shepard?"


	2. Urban Masquerade

"Shepard?" Gianna got to her feet. She still wasn't convinced she was seeing it right. It… _how_? "The news said you were dead!"

He was alone; that was the first thing she'd noticed. Odd. On Noveria he hadn't gone anywhere without that female marine and that hard-looking turian close behind him. She studied him, analyzed him, sized him up like she did with a mark. He hadn't changed since Noveria: short, jet-black hair; tanned skin; somewhat Asiatic eyes and facial features. That same aura of confidence and determination that seemed to make the air around him shift. Her eyes lowered. A pretty nice body…

No. Wrong direction.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice filling with that distantly matter-of-fact tone that she'd become so used to using with her marks. "No, wait, probably classified. Forget I asked. You'd just have to lie."

He hadn't moved an inch since he'd noticed her. It was like her words had frozen Commander Shepard in place. Odd. Back on Noveria, he hadn't struck her as the kind of person to get left speechless. Then again, a lot of her first impressions of him had been wrong.

She stared long at him, face completely devoid of expression. But that didn't mean she wasn't feeling anything. She was just doing one hell of a job of hiding it. Just like always. In a job like hers, one had to know how to hide behind masks. An undercover agent could never show their true thoughts, not on their face, not in their voice, not through their body language -- not at all. Gianna hadn't forgotten what Shepard had done two years ago. But just like before, like she'd learned so well to do, like she'd done for almost a year with Anoleis, Gianna had picked the right mask for Shepard and slipped it on wordlessly, hiding her true emotions behind a cold and clinical wall.

Still, she wasn't the type of person to dance around an issue. Not unless the cover ID called for it. And there was no reason to do so now. "It's been a couple of years," she said. "I'm Gianna Parasini, Noveria Internal Affairs." Here she let her tone become imbued with the most subtle hints of disdain.

"You screwed over my investigation of Administrator Anoleis."

--

_Shepard, Nguyen A., Systems Alliance Commander, certified L4 biotic, N7 -- Council Spectre? _

_She reads over that last line two or three extra times, just to make sure she's seeing it right. So the humans finally popped a Spectre, huh? Not bad. But what the hell is he on Noveria for?_

"_Captain Matsuo, stand down!" she yells into the intercom. Last thing the Executive Board needs is a Council Spectre getting shot and killed by Noveria security on a misunderstanding. That would bring things crashing down faster than any snow storm the Aelutsk Valley could throw at them._

_And then the Spectre is at her desk. Her cover introduction slips through her lips thoughtlessly now; she's repeated it so many times that it doesn't even feel like a lie anymore. "Gianna Parasini, executive assistant to Administrator Anoleis." She's never been undercover this long. She wonders if it will be hard to go back to normal once this investigation ends. If it ever ends._

_Damn it! She's made such little progress with Anoleis. The slimy salarian has been covering his tracks impeccably. It's like he knows he's being watched -- hell, he probably does suspect it by now. Though if she's done her job right, he'll never suspect it from her. _

_And now the Spectre wants to go to Peak 15. Great. She knew that asari matriarch would bring nothing but trouble. Last thing anyone on Noveria needs is a Council Spectre snooping around. But maybe… maybe this is the break she's been waiting for. A new player in the game, one whose loyalties nobody can call. He needs a garage pass. She needs proof of Anoleis's corruption. Still, she's not sure if she can trust the Spectre yet. Best not to reveal all her cards. Maybe just point him in the direction of Lorik Qui'in…_

_And not thirty minutes later, she's getting reports of noise from Synthetic Insights. Damn Spectres work quick. Quicker than bureaucracy can handle. She knew Kaira Stirling and the other guards were dirty, that they were with Anoleis. Now the Spectre has killed them. That means he's burned all bridges to the salarian. Maybe she can trust him now. Maybe he can convince Qui'in to testify._

_But he doesn't listen. He doesn't care what she has to say. His attention is completely focused on getting to Peak 15, and he goes straight to Qui'in. Qui'in gets the proof; the Spectre gets his garage pass. And just like that, he's disappearing into the snowstorm. Snuffing out the only lead she had._

_Gianna spends that night awake in bed, cursing herself. Never should have trusted the Spectre. Too blunt. Stupid decision. Can't let down the mask like that again…_

_--_

"You had proof that Anoleis was corrupt," she said angrily, pointing a sharp finger at his chest. She'd practiced this speech to herself countless times, during long, sleepless nights undercover. Even after hearing that Shepard was dead, she kept telling it to herself, finding it helped soothe her inner regrets. "You could have helped me put that thief behind bars. But you didn't listen! Once you gave Lorik Qui'in that proof, the turian didn't want to hear a word from me. He used it to get Anoleis off his back. How was I supposed to convince him to testify after that?"

She hadn't meant it to come out so fiery. Emotional outbursts like that rarely did anything but blow her cover. But Shepard wasn't a mark, and it felt damn _good _to yell at him!

But oddly enough, he didn't look mad. He stepped up to her table and rested his hands against it, leaning in. "I know," he said, eyes dropping. "I'm sorry. In retrospect I should have handled that better."

Sorry? He certainly hadn't seemed sorry on Noveria! He was nothing but the Spectre back then, the damned brazen idiot who had said fuck all to subtlety and ruined her investigation. It was because of him that she'd been forced to keep playing Anoleis's assistant for so long! Six months… she could have caught that bastard in six months. Now _that _would have looked good on her record.

But the Spectre had destroyed it all. And now was her chance to give him hell for it!

Unless…

Her eyes drifted over to Hermia's booth. It was empty -- the asari had left a few hours ago, and Gianna was just here keeping watch. Here she was, trying to catch her mark with _extranet worms _and goddamn _419 scams,_ of all things… holy hell, it reeked of desperation. She had given up trying to con Hermia face-to-face a while ago. The asari already knew her. But if she had a fresh face at her disposal…

No! She'd trusted Shepard once before, and look where it got her.

On the other hand, what did she have to lose? It wasn't like she had a cover ID to protect this time, or any leads for him to ruin. And he did seem legitimately apologetic…

There's a con back on Earth known as the Cat's Paw. It comes from an old 17th Century French fable, in which a monkey convinces a cat to pull chestnuts from a burning fire. The cat does so, burning its paw in the process, and the monkey eagerly gobbles the chestnuts up as they come. In a successful Cat's Paw, one party manipulates another into accomplishing its goals. The second party throws itself into the metaphorical fire, but it's the first party that reaps the benefits. She'd pulled it off before. It wasn't hard. And Shepard, as sorry as he seemed to be, could serve as an _excellent _cat.

Wordlessly, she slipped on her new mask. Her eyes took a warm quality to them. She afforded herself the tiniest of smiles. "It's fine. We ended up catching him a few months later on bribery charges. He's doing a few years in white collar prison. More importantly, he won't work in the field again." All that _was_ true, in fact. And even though lying had become so second nature to her, she was still somewhat relieved when she could pull off a con without doing it.

"Sit down," she continued, gesturing to the seat across from her. "Why don't you get me a beer?"


	3. Urban Warfare

The Lazarus cell had done as good a job as one could expect, considering the circumstances. Arlen Shepard had arrived, in the immortal words of Jacob, as "nothing but meat and tubes." He'd come out a fully functioning, fully capable biotic soldier, with all the bones mended, all the neurons connected right, all the muscles contracting and relaxing with the strength and agility that he'd come to expect from them. The biotics poured out as well as ever. The words, gestures and speech patterns were left unaltered. He still thought, spoke, moved like the same old Shepard. And though he remembered his old life with remarkable clarity, there were parts where it got fuzzy -- names, dates, faces; especially from the period just before his death.

He'd always been a bit forgetful. Dying couldn't have helped his memory. When Miranda had mentioned that she worked for Cerberus, he'd been unable to recall the battles he waged against them during the search for Saren. And ever since coming back, he had run into people from his old life whose names and faces he just couldn't… place. He knew he'd met them. He just couldn't remember the details.

This, however, was not the case with the woman now sitting across from him. Death was not enough to purge Gianna Parasini from his memory. He suspected that even if they'd brought him back _tabula rasa_ -- blank slate -- he would have still found a way to remember her. For several reasons. Not the least of which being what he'd done to her.

He wasn't really sure what to say. No, scratch that. He knew _exactly _what to say. He just didn't want to say it.

"Listen, about Anoleis…" He realized now that he'd completely forgotten what the salarian looked like. "I'm sorry for the way that turned out. I made a mistake."

The whole Noveria mission had been riddled with mistakes. It had been his first mission as a Spectre, his first time on a corporate world. And upon hearing that Matriarch Benezia was at Peak 15, he had let the mission take precedence over everything else. He was so determined to find her, catch her, kill her. He'd let it cloud his mind -- nothing mattered but Saren and Benezia. But Noveria didn't work like that. Noveria was much more complicated, and he had failed to adapt to the circumstances. So he left a pile of dead guards in the Synthetic Insights office -- probably inevitable -- and when Gianna tried to explain the situation to him, he ignored her. Nothing mattered but finding the straightest, quickest, easiest route to Peak 15.

He'd done a lot of good during the search for Saren. Little things: keeping the colony at Feros alive, stopping the terrorists on Asteroid x57, clearing a few uncharted planets of pirate and raider bases. Helping a grieving husband get back his wife's body. Things that, in the long run, maybe didn't matter as much as stopping Saren. But they certainly mattered to the people he'd helped.

Yet he had screwed things up pretty royally for Gianna Parasini. It was a mistake that the Shepard of today wouldn't have made.

Still, Gianna didn't seem that upset to see him. She had all but ordered him to get her a beer, but now, not ten seconds later, she was reaching into some sort of purse-backpack hybrid on the floor next to her seat, procuring two unopened bottles from a brand -- Thessian Lite -- that he had never heard of. She opened them both with two fingers and slid him one. Apparently it didn't really matter who was buying.

"Asari imported draft," she explained. "I always carry a few when I'm on the job. You'd be surprised how much less attention people pay you if you've got a bottle of beer in your hand."

"On the job?" he asked. "So you're here on business?"

Gianna took a quick sip from her bottle. "Of course. I don't go anywhere without a reason. My job doesn't exactly lend itself to the whole two weeks paid vacation thing." She smiled. "What about you, Shepard? What brings you to Illium? You know, that you can talk about."

Technically his mission was classified. Well, _technically _it wasn't, since Cerberus was not a government organization. But the Illusive Man had been pretty clear about it being a bad idea to go mouthing off across the Terminus Systems that the Normandy was going after the Collectors. It was one of the few things he and Shepard agreed on. Plus Noveria _had _been protecting the enemy last time.

And yet… he felt like Gianna deserved to know. She didn't strike him as the kind of person to go running off to the media with the latest Shepard exclusive. And he did owe her _something_, at least. What could he say? She had trustworthy eyes.

"You ever heard about the Collectors?" he asked. "They're attacking human colonies. I'm going to stop them."

Gianna's eyes widened. "Damn, Shepard. For me, a tough job involves more paperwork."

He took a sip of his imported asari beer. It tasted absolutely terrible, but he swallowed it in one solid gulp, doing his best to keep his face from twisting. "I'm here on Illium to recruit some people for my team."

He was midway through that statement when Gianna's eyes seemed to catch something behind him. Her head perked up like a gazelle; she put her beer down just a _bit_ too hard on the table. Her eyes seemed to follow this new fascination for a few seconds. Then they dropped, and she rested her head against her hand, shielding her face with an open palm.

"Hey, listen, I just remembered something," she said quickly, eyes still to the floor. "I have to go. Talk to you later?" Gianna got to her feet hastily and walked off, leaving her bottle, her purse, and Arlen Shepard behind.

"Don't forget to drink your beer," she said before disappearing into the crowd.

And then he was alone. And something felt off. Her voice, her face, her body language -- the whole thing seemed so… artificial. If she had really been trying to cut the meeting short, she could have come up with a better excuse than _that_. No, there was definitely something else up.

Shepard glanced down at his beer. After studying the label for a few seonds, he rotated it a good nintey degrees. And there was Gianna's message, hastily scrawled in smearing ink, on the far side of the label:

_Shepard. Had to leave. Target saw me. Couldn't break cover. Asari merchant smuggling schematics from Noveria. Can you trick her into showing you good stuff?_

And suddenly it all made sense. Gianna was here tracking a target. And that friendly conversation she'd just had with him -- it wasn't because she wanted to catch up with an old friend. She needed his help. Someone like her would never ask for help directly, though; throwing him into the middle of the situation was her own calculated, impersonal way of asking for it.

If she was trusting him again, after what happened last time… then she had to be desperate.

Shepard glanced back over his shoulder. The nearby electronics booth that had once been empty was now being managed by a short, slender, youthful asari, back turned, pistol at her side, and hard at work on her console. Was _this _Gianna's target? This little asari weighed fifty kilos _maximum_, and if she were to attempt to fire that pistol holstered at her side, he imagined it would send her careening back against the wall. Out of everyone on the Illium trade floor, she was the last person Shepard would suspect was a criminal. But trouble came in small packages sometimes -- Jack had taught him that. And if Gianna was desperate enough to ask Shepard for help, then this little asari had to be a cunning little bitch.

He'd screwed over Gianna Parasini once. She was giving him an opportunity to make it up to her, and he had to at least try. He owed her that much.

The little asari almost jumped as he approached, and he half-expected her to pull out her little pistol and shoot him, sending them both staggering back. But instead, she gave him a wide grin. "Welcome." She sounded as soft and delicate as she looked. "You look like someone who needs high quality equipment!"

He almost felt bad tricking this asari. She barely looked like more than a child -- though she was probably a good five times older than him.

"Feel free to look around," she continued. "My store has the best tech and biotic equipment on Illium."

Watching her, he simply couldn't imagine this asari breaking the law. But there were stranger things in the galaxy, he supposed. He did his best to sound intimidating. "How do I know your stuff is any good? You're an asari. Maybe your stuff is no good for humans."

"I carry nothing but the best," she replied quickly. "I even offer a money back guarantee!"

Shepard rolled his eyes. "That doesn't help me when I'm dead due to equipment failure. Look, I'm dropping too many credits to screw around here." He turned a quick hundred eighty degrees and started walking away deliberately.

"Well, perhaps I could give you a preferred rate at the kiosk. A small discount…"

He kept walking.

"…and when I get special items in, you can take a look…"

He kept walking. He was a good ten meters away now, almost out of earshot.

"Wait! There's something else you might be interested in. Something not listed on my main merchandise kiosk."

Well, _that _was easy. Sometimes, when criminals have been holding on to stolen merchandise for long periods of time, they get nervous. A bit desperate to hawk off the hot property. Anything to get it off their hands -- even mouthing off about it to a complete stranger promising to "drop a lot of credits."

That was probably what Gianna was banking on. And Shepard _did _look the part. He made his way back up to the kiosk. "And what, exactly, is this _something_?"

The little asari grinned a grin more devious than he would have imagined her capable of. "A new omni-tool design. Sirta Foundation. Very advanced design -- not publicly available yet."

"That's because it's still in development on Noveria. And illegal for export."

Gianna Parasini had reappeared suddenly and without a sound. She stood at the other end of the kiosk, grinning widely. "Hello, Hermia."

"Parasini…" Shepard saw a wild mix of emotions play across the little asari's face in the span of a few seconds -- first wide-eyed shock, then fear, then a flash of fury, and then finally a round look of confusion. "You set me up! But this isn't Noveria. You don't have the authority to arrest me!"

Gianna shrugged. "I don't care whether you go to jail. I've got all the evidence I need to fine you out of business."

"Do you have the authority to seize the schematic she's trying to sell?" Shepard asked.

Gianna's attention shifted back to him, and she let out a short, yet satisfying chuckle. "I don't have to. Hermia was under suspicion. We leaked her a faulty design. All this thing will ever do is blow up in your face."

As Gianna spoke, the little asari named Hermia seemed to sicken. She stepped back a bit; her eyes darkened and her body slumped. He could have sworn that her skin, just moments ago colored a dark ocean-blue, had taken on the softest tint of green. "I… need to go," she said, her youthful voice quivering. "I have to talk to my lawyer." And then she scurried off into the crowd, walking faster than most people were capable of running.

Gianna called after her. "Talk fast, Hermia! When the fines hit, you won't be able to afford him."

It took Shepard a moment to realize that he had a gaping, shit-eating grin emblazoned on his face. He quickly erased it. But what he couldn't erase was the euphoria flooding through his system. He was breathing a bit hard, shaking just a little; a fresh layer of sweat had developed along his upper body. He felt a rush of energy, the same euphoric rush he felt after a successful mission. Tricking Hermia had been… fun!

"Ah, that was good," Gianna said, her eyes back on him. "I love nailing asari. So ageless and superior… then you get them, and they squeal like schoolgirls."

She stood there, grinning smugly. Gianna Parasini. His single, greatest mistake. Between all the lives he'd touched two years ago, all the people he'd helped, here stood the one person he'd screwed over, the one person for whom he'd ruined everything. It was cruelly poetic, he supposed. Zhu's Hope, the people on Terra Nova, Rebekah Petrovsky and Martin Burns and Samesh Bhatia -- they had all been helpless, faced with problems they were incapable of solving alone.

But Gianna Parasini was different. Of all the people he'd met in this galaxy, she was the only one who had gotten along just fine without his help. The only one who had solved all her problems despite him. There were many reasons why he hadn't forgotten her after the Lazarus Project, but the big one was just becoming clear to him now:

Gianna Parasini was simply memorable.

He followed her back to the table, where the purse-backpack hybrid sat waiting for her return. "You know, I still feel bad about Anoleis," he said, watching her bend over and scoop the thing into her arm.

"Forget about it, Shepard," she said between soft chuckles. "I told you, it's over. He's in jail now regardless. And thanks to you, Hermia will be going Chapter Eleven on us very soon. For her, that's a fate worse than death."

"Well, I still feel like I owe you something." Here Gianna met his eyes, and both of them broke into soft, somewhat unintentional smiles. "Let me make it up to you. Tomorrow. Dinner. One of my squad recommended a place called Eternity not too far from here. Meet me there at Twenty-One Hundred tomorrow?"

Gianna's smile didn't fade, but her eyes squinted, and her face contorted in a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Shepard, are you… are you asking me out?"

"Only if you're accepting," he said quickly. "If not, then no, I am absolutely _not_ asking you out."

There was a long pause in the conversation, where nothing could be heard save for the surrounding din of the city. Then her smile grew wider. She grabbed his still-relatively-untouched bottle of beer and shoved it violently into his hands. "Then I guess you're asking me out. See you tomorrow, Shepard."

And she dissapeared into the crowd just as quickly as before.


	4. Urban Nightlife

The thing that struck Gianna most was how little attention people were paying them.

It was eerie. Here she was, having dinner with Commander Shepard, the first human Spectre, the goddamn _savior _of the Citadel and _hero _of the galaxy… and none of the other patrons around them cared! What the hell? How could they not recognize him? His face had been plastered across every major news network in the galaxy two years ago. He'd been used for Alliance recruitment commercials, been the subject of documentaries and biopics, had articles and socio-historical analysis papers written about him in top scholarly journals. Hell, they were even selling a Shepard VI on the Citadel! He was, as they loved to say, the most famous human in the galaxy.

Yet it seemed nobody on Illium recognized him.

It was probably better that way. She'd have found it very difficult to enjoy her date with so many eyes staring at her, dissecting her, snapping photos to sell to the highest-paying tabloid. She could picture the headline now:

SHEPARD ALIVE ON ILLIUM! AND WHO IS THE MYSTERY WOMAN?

Damn, why was she here at all? Shepard might be the savior of the galaxy, but he was still Shepard, that same brazen Spectre who couldn't have cared less about anything other than his mission. If what people like Councilor Anderson said were true, if the Reapers were, indeed, real, then Shepard had saved her life along with everyone else's. Even if the Reapers were a myth, he'd still saved the Citadel from the geth. So he was the big hero. Great. Didn't mean she had to forgive him. Or like him.

And yet here she was, sitting across from him on the floor of Eternity, listening to him talk over the heady thrums of music, running a fork through her bowl of spiced ramen. Damn it! She kept telling herself that she was just keeping a friendly façade with him, just continuing the con. But the con was long over. And as much as she hated herself for it, Gianna Parasini was… having a good time.

"So, top story this morning," she said. "It's all over the news. Someone absolutely _destroyed _Nassana Dantius last night. Raided her building, slaughtered her guards, killed her right in her penthouse. And the investigation has already found quite a bit of evidence of illegal business practices on her database." Gianna smiled lightly. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"Absolutely not! It was a very dangerous drell assassin named Thane Krios."

Shepard had ordered a plate of filet mignon steak, imported directly from Earth, along with a bottle of aged Italian wine. Say what you want about Illium, but these asari certainly know how to cater to diverse tastes. Before tonight, she didn't even know that Eternity doubled as a restaurant.

"The fact that Thane is now part of my team," Shepard continued, "is just pure coincidence."

Gianna chuckled a bit before sticking a forkful of ramen in her mouth. She had felt a bit guilty ordering ramen at first, considering the heavy price tag it carried nowadays. But then Shepard had asked for a bottle of hundred-credit aged wine, and suddenly the ramen didn't look so expensive.

The real question was what _he _was doing here. Her work on Illium was done -- the trade board had already frozen Hermia's accounts, and in all likelihood the asari wouldn't have enough money to buy passage off this world by week's end.

Shepard, on the other hand, had quite a bit left to do. She didn't know what his plans were on Illium or how long he was planning to stay. But taking down the Collectors… a mission like that didn't really leave time for casual dating. Least of all with her. Why _was_ he doing this? Was it guilt, or was he just looking to get laid? She knew it had to be one of the two, because the savior of the galaxy does not just come back from the dead and ask you out in the middle of a critical mission. The world doesn't work that way.

"So this is standard procedure for you?" she asked, softly swaying her half-empty glass of wine, watching the dark red liquid swirl and whirlpool within. "Take in the local nightlife, do a little light dating in between life-or-death missions?"

He laughed. "Not usually. But Illium may be the last urban world we stop at before the suicide mission, and I want to squeeze at least a week of shore leave out of it for the crew--"

"--wait, did you just say _suicide _mission?"

He cut his steak in quick, even slices, precise, like a surgeon with a scalpel. "What we're preparing to do… we may not come back from it. The Collectors live at the other end of the Omega-4 Relay. No ship has ever gone through it and come back." His voice, usually oozing with tranquil confidence, had grown heavy. "Everyone's a little on edge. I figured we could all use a break. Even me."

Tension filled the space between them after that, lasting several long moments. Uneasy, Gianna's eyes dropped back down to her glass of wine. "I didn't realize it was that serious," she said, her voice softer than she'd intended. "I didn't mean to…"

"Though with the right team behind me, I'm confident we'll succeed," he said, breaking the tension with a light laugh. "Which is why I'm here. I've got one person left on my list of recruits: an asari justicar. And for some reason, everyone gives me uneasy looks whenever I mention it." He leaned back with a tiny shrug. "I still don't get why. What's so bad about asari justicars?"

At that, she couldn't hold back an amused little smile. Some years ago, an asari justicar had paid a… very memorable visit Noveria. After bringing justice down on a particularly crooked Hanhe-Kedar executive with a couple of shotgun slugs, the justicar had agreed to let herself be imprisoned for a single day. Had a nearby Thessian military cruiser not come by and convinced her to leave, she would have undoubtedly escaped. And Noveria would have had quite the labor shortage on its hands.

She grinned. "A justicar under Shepard's command? That should be… interesting."

"Please." He raised her an open palm. "Call me Arlen."

"Arlen? That's weird. When I looked you up on the Noveria database, it said your name was--" She bit her tongue. Hard. Literally. It sent a shot of pain across her mouth, and she began tasting iron blood. "Not that I make a habit of… looking up my… damn it!"

His face broke into a wide, amused smile. "Relax, Gianna. If I had access to Noveria's database, I probably would have looked you up too." He took a long -- a little _too _long -- drink of wine. "My name showed up as Nguyen Shepard, right?"

"Nguyen A. Shepard," she said.

"Well, I'm part Vietnamese, and when I was born, my grandmother outright _refused _to acknowledge me as her grandson unless I was given a good, solid Vietnamese name." He gave her an amused glare, then shrugged. "Nguyen is a bit of a mouthful, though. So most people just call me by my middle name, Arlen. Well, _most _people call me Shepard, but Arlen works in a pinch."

"I think I like Shepard, actually," she said. She'd been hesitant to drink too much wine -- she didn't want it going to her head. The glass in her hand was only her second of the night. But… what the hell? Shepard wasn't a mark. There was no cover ID to keep up this time, no mask to sustain. And what was the harm in a little loosening of inhibitions?

Gianna finished off the glass with one solid gulp and quickly refilled it.

"So," she continued with a grin. "A child of mixed heritage, huh? I'm the same way. Arabic, African, Swedish, Japanese, Italian -- and that's just as far back as my grandparents."

"Vietnamese, Russian, American, Turkish, French, and Mexican here. That's six." He gave her a devious look before eating another piece of his steak. "Not that anyone's counting," he said with a full mouth.

She giggled. "Alright, alright, no need to turn this into a 'who's the bigger mutt' contest."

As she took another sip of wine, she felt a growing warmth in her chest, and the lightest of buzzes forming in her head. _Really_? Just two glasses of wine, and she was already starting to feel the effects. Normally Gianna could drink her way through an entire liquor rack and come out coherent on the other side. It was something she had taught herself to do. In case the cover ID ever required it.

_It must be a combination of the wine and the company_, she thought. Then, quickly, _oh, hell! You're already thinking flirty thoughts, Parasini. You'd better put the glass down. _

But she didn't. She kept sipping, and before she knew it, her third glass was already drained.

The rest of the evening passed by quickly. As the wine did its job, Gianna's anecdotes of her experiences on Noveria became increasingly more detailed… and more classified. They ordered a second bottle, and by the time it was empty, she was pretty sure she had told Shepard a few million credits' worth of corporate secrets. Luckily he was a bit drunk too.

"…eleven. Or maybe twelve. I'm telling you, the guy is unstoppable. You'd never guess from the way he rubs the back of his neck all uneasy." She laughed wildly as she finished off the last of her glass. "Next time I see Rafael Vargas, I'm gonna tell him that twelve mistresses is enough. One of these days his wife is gonna find a voice mail or something…"

Shepard's eyes were opened wide. "Twelve mistresses? Are you serious?"

"And one of them is an asari!" she whispered. Though it came out as more of a breathy yell.

She was ready to offer to split the bill, but when it came, he activated his omni-tool and gave her a tiny smirk. "One fantastic meal charged directly to Cerberus." He wagged a few fingers, the omni-tool expelling a series of beeps and clicks as it worked. "The waiter was friendly. Let's give him a fifty percent tip." Then he laughed.

"Cerberus…" she whispered. The name sounded vaguely familiar -- she could have sworn she remembered one of the Cord-Hislop execs on Noveria mention it once. She considered asking him about it, but ultimately decided against it.

Eventually they left Eternity, stepping into the Illium night. It was cold. Colder than she had expected. Gianna had dressed lightly -- long leather gloves, heels, and a sleek purple dress that she hadn't worn since… damn, since Anoleis. She'd been expecting a typical balmy Illium night. But instead, the wind blew hard and icy through her hair, sending chills down her skin, leaving her cold and shivering. She found herself drawing closer to Shepard. When he put an arm around her, she didn't complain.

It might have been the alcohol talking. But at that moment Gianna decided to say something that, two hours ago, she would have shot herself for even _considering_. "Hey Shepard? My hotel isn't too far from here. Ten minutes walking distance… you know, if you want to…"

_Holy shit, Parasini, _the logical, sober, cautious part of her mind whispered. _Inviting the Spectre to your hotel room? Really? What the hell are you thinking? You should have stopped at two glasses of wine. _But thanks to a combination of alcohol, curiosity, physical attraction, and… another feeling that she didn't have the time or mental clarity to analyze right now, she ignored it.

They say that great things happen when you throw caution to the wind. Gianna disagreed. She had relied on caution her whole life, on distance, on walls and masks and cover IDs that kept things as impersonal as possible. She didn't like having to trust people, and she _hated _the idea of throwing caution to the wind.

In fact, this was the first time in two years she was doing it.


End file.
